The System #1

The armored detainee transport pulled through the stately front gates, passed high stone walls and meandered through towering topiaries before stopping before the resplendently bright white mansion. The vehicle stopped and two of the Sheriff's men stepped out, one holding a shotgun, just should the need arise. The door in the rear was unlocked and two more guards exited into the bright spring sunshine, pulling in tow with them the burly, hulking form of their charge, clad in an orange jumpsuit, his hair clean but running low over his eyes, a half day's stubble freckling his cheeks and chin with black. His wrists were bound to his waist and his ankles shackled together. Even so, the guards stood ready, as if he may burst from his bonds and trample them in his escape.

The guards marched the prisoner up the steps to the front porch, one of them reaching out to ring the doorbell. From deep within the house, great brass chimes boomed their arrival, and with only the shortest pause, the door was answered by a man who dwarfed even the stocky guards and the bruiser they led in chains. Without a word, he motioned them inside and the assemblage trekked onto the marble floor in the grand foyer, their footfalls echoing off the high ceilings. Another pair of footfalls were evident, lighter, clacking majestically along the hard surface. In a doorway appeared a petite young woman, with fine blonde hair that fell to just below her shoulders. Despite the heat of the day and the presence in her own house, she wore a trench coat that revealed only her slim and shapely calves caressed by white stockings and her feet, clad in short white heels, the tips coated in shining chrome. She stopped before the men, and beckoned the behemoth who answered the door away.

As if on cue, one of the guards stepped forward, eyeing his official document and stealing a glance at her legs in the process. He spoke:

"Ms. Celia Anderson, you are being charged with the duty of incarceration and rehabilitation of Dennis Calder until such time that he is deemed by the court to return to society. I'll need you to sign here," She reached out for his pen with graceful slender fingers and signed as he pointed out the spots, "and here please. And initial here. And one final signature here. Thank you, Ma'am.

"You're welcome," she replied, her voice husky and sonorous, commanding a voice unbefitting such a slight creature. The men began to file out of the house as one guard unchained the prisoner. Once he was unshackled, they seemed to exit faster and took no time in reboarding their vehicle to make a hasty get away.

Celia eyed her new charge, and without a word, peeled her coat sideways, displaying the white lacy bodysuit she wore, her small breasts stretching the material, her nipples erect, and the white stockings that topped out just over her knee.

Dennis rubbed his wrists with his big, rough hands, eyeing the strippling woman up and down through his hair with eyes of cold hatred and lust.

"Well, let's get started, shall we?" she said, starting to walk away in the direction from which she had come. She paused, as he had not taken a step to follow her, and she turned to address him.

"Let us get something straight," she paused to eye her copy of the document, reading his number out loud, "147382. I am in charge here, and per the Dominatory Rehabilitation Act, I am going to turn you into a model citizen. This will be accomplished because you will follow my commands to the letter, and only when I see fit, will I call the court to have you evaluated. Do you understand?"

Dennis responded by closing the distance to his new keeper, stopping a foot away from her, still rubbing his store wrists. He looked her in the eye, a stare which she returned, unflinching.

"Do you know what I did, lady?"

"Multiple homicide and rape."

"And that doesn't frighten you?"

"It frightens society. You're no longer in society. You're here, and I have nothing to fear from you here."

Dennis grinned, yellow wolf teeth glowing in the brightness of the foyer.

"This is what I think of you and your control here, little girl. First, I'm going to beat you within an inch of your life. Then I'm going tear this place apart and take what I like. Then I'm going to call all my friends and we're going to party with you like you've never partied before. We're going to bang your bleeding body until you scream for mercy and then I'm personally going to fuck those staring eyes right out of your sockets and cram em down your throat." He leaned forward, his breath pouring out in an invisible rank cloud between them. He was close enough to strike out and bite her, which he thought of doing. "I'm not even going to kill you, I'll let you live so you can enjoy the party. He started to reach out for her, when he heard footfalls on the marble behind him. He twirled around, knowing it was the doorman, ready for the fight to come.

The distraction was timed perfectly.

Silently, Celia's hand slipped into her coat and produced the shock stick she had hidden there. Dennis never saw it coming. She simply raised the stick and pulled the trigger as she jabbed the business end into his ribs. He let out a grunt and fell to the floor like a sack full of rocks. Celia stood over him, his eyelids fluttering, his limbs spasming until he finally passed out. Without a word, the man who had answered the door stepped forward, scooped up the prisoner as if he were a bag lunch and carried him into the next room. Celia followed and shut the door behind them.

*

Dennis awoke with a raging headache. He reached up to rub his forehead and fell short of the mark. Groggily he became aware of the straps on his arms, his legs, around his chest and around his neck. He was helpless. There was nothing but a bright light in his vision, and in the background, three dark shapes, two massive and thick, one slight and waifish. Rage boiled up from his gut, and his vision began to clear. There she was. That bitch! She was book-ended by two bruising men, the one from earlier and a second, this one black as night, and shaved bald. The threesome approached, the woman slightly ahead.

"Good, you're awake. Now, where were we."

"Blarh," Dennis muttered wearily, his tongue not yet awake with his anger.

"Mhmm, well I believe I was filling you in on the details here. Your little display of disobedience is not unexpected, so don't worry about that, but make no mistake," she leaned in closely, as he had to her earlier," You are a piece of clay, and I shall remold you. If you think you're hardened, then I'll have to break you and start over. I am an accomplished sculptor in that regard, and you will be formed, or reformed, as necessary."

"Fuh," he attempted. She clucked her tongue at him.

"I will no longer tolerate such disobedience. You will learn and you will learn quickly." She beckoned to her subs to step forward, both reaching out to him.

"Wuh, what are you goin' do ta me?" he managed. "Uh, now that you gah me wer you wah me." He laughed drunkenly. "I bin banged buh scarier gahs thin them. Brin it on, Bish."

"Oh no, #147382, that would be too easy. Besides, such an obvious punishment is so, jejune. I have much grander plans for you. I am going to fix you. You will call me Mistress, and I will call you cured." Dennis looked into her eyes for the second time that day and was startled by what he saw. His vision was improving, but she snapped into focus when he saw the look in her eyes. She was grinning, and now she had the wolf teeth, but she was the wolf, the She-wolf, hungry, ravenous, eager to feed and with eyes on no other prey than him.

The two men resumed removing his restraints and grabbed him with hands like hams. They dragged him effortlessly from the chair in which he had been tied and out into the hall. Her voice echoed out to them as he was manhandled away: "Take him to the Room."